


Captive

by daoinhe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe
Summary: 'We think caged birds sing, when in fact they cry.'John Webster





	1. Things You Find When the Battle Ends

**Author's Note:**

> This is not canon. My red pyro is female, just a warning... Neither of my pyros are canon crazy, but there are some definite issues there. Also, this started out as pure smut, but then I got distracted and somehow this story took on a life of it's own... Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

The battle was over for the day. The Administrator’s voice boomed out over the battlefield, announcing the BLU’s win. The humiliation round was brief, afterwards the BLU team congregated back at their base, laughing and high fiving each other, celebrating their win and the upcoming weekend. Scout, who’d been standing at the open bay doors, looking out over the battlefield, suddenly nudged Demo. “Hey, look at Pyro, man. What’s he got on his shoulder?” 

Demo peered out the door with his one good eye, frown lines appearing in the middle of his forehead. He watched as Pyro got closer to the base’s doors, the other mercs falling silent and staring as well when they noticed Demo and Scout’s enthrallment with the approaching Pyro. 

He plodded closer, heavy boots thumping on the loading dock leading to the base, humming softly under his breath. Walking into the room, he looked around for a second, then turned toward his room. The gathered and silent mercs stared at the red bundle thrown over one strong shoulder as he kept walking and humming. Booted feet dangled down his back and limp hands swung in front of him with every step. Finally, Engie spoke up with some trepidation. 

“Hey, Pyro, what you got there?” He asked.

Pyro turned, the blank lenses of his mask hiding his expression and stopped humming. “Mmmyrrr frrrennnph.” 

Engie tilted his head to the side, studying the RED bundle closer. “Pyro, is that the RED pyro?” He stepped in closer and Pyro backed up a few steps, nodded his head and turned back toward his room.

Engie watched as he started to walk away again. Spy nudged him suddenly. “We cannot simply allow him to keep the enemy pyro in the base, can we? Talk to him, Labourer. See if you can get the Pyro from him so that we can return it to its base.”

Engie looked at Spy out of the corner of his eye, most of his attention on their Pyros broad back. “You talk to him. You know what his temper’s like.”

Spy frowned. “He respects you. Likes you. That is why you must do it.” He nudged Engie, pushing him forward a bit. “Go on, talk to him.”

Engie staggered forward a step and looked at the other mercenaries. They all nodded agreement and stepped back, giving him a clear line of sight to the Pyro’s retreating back. With a sigh, Engie cleared his throat and stepped quickly across the room, his hand falling on Pyro’s empty shoulder. Pyro stopped walking, his back stiffening. Slowly, he turned and faced the smaller man, looming over him.

Engie cleared his throat. “Hey, Pardner, don’t you think maybe you should give the RED back to it’s team? I reckon they’ll miss their Pyro. They’re gonna be pretty pissed off if you keep it.”

Pyro turned to him, menace evident in every line of his body. “Wrnts pllllyyy. Nnnnmmmmpfff.” His free hand pulled up the shotgun he held, pointing it straight at Engie’s chest. “Mmmiiinnneee…” The last word was distinct, spoken slowly to make sure it was understood.

Engie backed up a step, his hands going up in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, boy. At least let the Doc take a look at it, make sure it don’t die on ya…”

Pyro tilted his head to the side. Contemplating for a moment, he nodded and turned, starting back down the corridor. The rest of the team followed, curiosity aroused now.

Pyro plodded along the halls to his room and upon entering, dumped the limp body of the RED Pyro onto his bed. He pulled his mask off and dropped it onto the beat-up nightstand, then turned to glare at the rest of his team, crowding into the doorway. “It’s mine.” He frowned at them all. “I’ll let the Doctor look at it, but that’s it.” He turned back to the bed and sat on the edge, one hand possessively on the smaller Pyro’s chest. “Hurry up, Doc. Get this over with.” He reached over and began removing the RED Pyro’s mask. Rolling the thick rubber up, he revealed a heart shaped face, fine boned and framed with short auburn hair. Cupid’s bow lips and a button nose with a sprinkling of freckles caused Scout to whistle softly. “Jeez, it’s a girl.” He whispered softly. 

Pyro glared at him. “Mine, Scout. Go get your own RED.” He turned back to the enemy pyro and unzipped the heavy asbestos suit, sliding her arms out and folding them primly across her chest. She was wearing a white tank top, same as his. He smiled and ran gloved fingers over her cheek gently. 

Medic slowly approached the bed. Pyro perched on the edge, watching him carefully. His hand fell to the shotgun he’d propped against the nightstand. “Just make her better, Doc. Then go.” 

Medic began to examine the girl, hands running over her clinically. “She has broken ribs and a compound fracture of her left leg. Also, a concussion. That is very dangerous.” He glanced up at the other man. “She would be far easier to treat in the clinic. You will allow me to take her there, yes?” 

Pyro’s fingers ran over the shotty, and he shook his head, dark hair flipping into his eyes. “No. You can do what you need to here. I’ll take care of her.” 

Medic nodded finally. “Fine, Pyro. But you must be very gentle with her, even after I heal her. Do you understand?” 

Pyro nodded, his dark eyes focused on the girl’s face. “I understand, Doc.” There was a note of tenderness in his voice. With a sigh, knowing this was going to end badly, Medic flipped a switch on his MediGun and trained the beam on the enemy. Soon, she stirred slightly on the bed, eyes fluttering open. 

“What the…?” she lurched upwards, arms flailing, eyes wide. Pyro slammed his fist into the side of her head, knocking her out again. Turning to the Medic, he frowned. “Out. Now.” His hand landed on the shotgun once more and Medic began to back out of the room. The other mercenaries stepped further into the hallway. Pyro closed the door behind them, turning the key in the lock. He could hear them out there talking. His shoulders slumped for a second, he sagged against the door. When he’d found the RED Pyro, he’d thought it, no she, he corrected himself, was dead. But when the body didn’t get picked up by respawn, he’d realized that she was alive. Bringing her home had seemed like a good idea at the time. Still did, no matter what the rest of the team thought. With a sigh he walked over to the stash of junk in the corner of his room and dug around for a moment. Finding the 10-foot length of chain he’d been saving to wrap around his axe, he walked back over to the girl and finished taking off her suit. He looped one end of the chain around her slender ankle, then fastened it with a padlock. The other end was looped to the leg of his bed. Leaning back, he admired his handiwork then began moving weapons out of her reach. He had a feeling that when she woke up, she was gonna be mad. 

 

When the RED Pyro woke up, she couldn’t figure out how she got into her bed. She was warm, and the blankets were drawn up over her shoulders, and she was surrounded by pillows. The last thing she remembered was trying to reflect a BLU rocket and getting thrown into a wall. She stirred and rolled over, opening her eyes. That was when she realized that something was horribly wrong. Her suit was gone. So were her clothes. She never slept nude. The paint on the wall was blue. It was faded and there were scorch marks everywhere, but still obviously blue paint. She sat up and her eyes immediately fell on the man sitting in the straight-backed chair in the corner. He had dark hair and dark eyes, with burn scars covering the left half of his face. They ran down his neck and disappeared into the heavy blue sweater he was wearing. Over all, she thought, it was a handsome face, the scars just adding to the aura of danger surrounding the man. He shifted, and her eyes fell to the shotgun laid casually across his knee. Leaning over, he nonchalantly propped it against the wall near him. 

“You’re awake.” His voice was husky and deep, the accent hard to place but definitely southern. He stood up and smiled at her. “I thought you were gonna sleep all night.” He stepped toward her and Red began scooting backwards toward the wall. She scooted herself into the corner and crouched on her heels, fists up.

“Where am I? Who are you?” Her voice hoarse, she cleared her throat, trying to stall his approach. 

“I’m Martin. You’re home.” He had reached the edge of the bed. He stopped walking and just stared at her for a moment, dark eyes twinkling in the dim light. Her eyes widened as his hands went to the button on his jeans, unfastening them, scarred fingers pulling down his zipper. “You just don’t realize it yet.” 

She got her feet under her and dove past him as he stepped out of his pants. The breath was knocked out of her as a strong arm wrapped around her stomach and jerked her back to him. She cried out at the heat of his body against her back and began flailing her fists, trying to get loose. He grunted as her fist connected with something tender and he fell on top of her, pinning her to the bed. Red screamed. His knees were between her legs, forcing them apart and her shoulders were pinned into the soft mattress by his hands. She couldn’t get enough leverage to shift his bulk off her. She screamed again as she felt one hand groping between her thighs. The other hand shifted from her shoulder to the back of her head, pressing her face into the mattress. She put both her hands on the mattress, pushing back as hard as possible, but it did no good. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to gasp in air but the hand at the back of her head was relentless. 

Dark spots started to form in front of her eyes and she could feel her struggles getting weaker. Just as the darkness began to bloom across her vision, the hand at the back of her head fisted itself into her hair and dragged her head up. She took in deep shuddering breaths, panic racing through her. She felt his hardness dragging across her, between her folds, and suddenly his body jerked forward as he impaled her. She screamed against the pain burning between her legs. He was too big, she was not ready for him. It felt like she’d been split in half. She cried out in agony as he thrust inside her once more, then he went still. 

His free hand wormed under her stomach, lifting her off the bed and allowing her to get her arms under herself. She struggled to pull away from the agony, body bucking and jerking against him, but he held her hips firmly in place. 

“That’s it, girl. Fight me, wear yourself out.” His voice was little more than a whisper as his hand moved in slow circles on her stomach. “No matter what you do, you’re mine.” 

She reacted to his voice with sheer terror, twisting and throwing her body back and forth, trying to free herself from him. It didn’t work. He stayed firmly planted inside her, holding her tightly against him. At last her struggles slowed and he began to move inside her. She whined deep in her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was limp in his arms, too exhausted to struggle. His hand let go of her hair and moved down, tweaking her nipples, causing her to whimper in pain. She tried to scream but all that came out was a hoarse wail, her throat raw. His mouth nuzzled against her neck at the sound, she tried to pull away but his grip was like steel. The tears came faster as his breathing started to speed up, he was pounding into her harder now, his movements jerky and arrhythmic. Finally, with a guttural moan, he came inside her. A few final strokes and he collapsed on her, smashing her back into the mattress. He lay still for a moment, then rolled onto his side, pulling her body with him and spooning her tightly. She lay still, sobbing quietly. Her entire body felt bruised, violated. The burning between her legs was a stark reminder of his presence inside her. She felt scraped raw, body and soul. Closing her eyes, she allowed the darkness of exhaustion to take her.


	2. Breakfast and Broken Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes fighting the inevitable is just too hard.

She woke up to hands stroking her breasts, warm lips on her throat. She stirred, trying to pull away from him, but Martin’s fingers pinched her nipple, making her cry out. “Lay still, little bird. Or, roll over here and touch me back.” His teeth raked against her skin and his fingers went to her nipples, tugging on them. “But don’t ever try to pull away from me. That will get you hurt.” He breathed into her hair, the skin on her neck breaking out in goosebumps at the feel of his hot breath. “Do you understand me, little bird?” 

Red nodded and rolled over to look at him. Her hand went to his chest, tracing the burn scars down his left side. “If you let me go now, I won’t tell anyone.” She looked up at him, blue eyes meeting brown. “We can pretend this never happened and my team won’t target you.” She worried her lip between her teeth, concentrating on how to convince him to release her. 

He chuckled, laying a finger across her lips for a brief moment. “Do you really think I’m worried about your team?” His hand slid lower, fingers brushing her stomach, then sliding down to knead her thighs. “I’ll burn them all in their beds if they try to take you from me.” He shrugged, his voice matter of fact. “You aren’t going anywhere little bird. Not until I let you go.” Propping himself up on his elbow, he stared down the length of her body. “I captured you. I will keep you.” His fingers dipped between her thighs and she pulled away from him instinctively. His eyes narrowed. “I told you not to do that.” Darting forward, his teeth latched onto her breast, biting down hard.

She pounded on his head with her fist, a high-pitched whine escaping her lips. Martin ground his teeth together, feeling them cushioned by the soft flesh of her breast, wanting to bite down harder, to make her bleed, but resisting. He pressed his finger into her, sinking it to the knuckle and grinding his fist into her pelvis. She cried out, jerking her hips away from him, eyes filling with tears again. When a second finger joined the first, she screamed at the burning pain, pounding on his back with both fists. 

“Get out of me! Get out of me!” It became a mantra, the single phrase repeated over and over as she beat her fists into his solid back. Grabbing his hair in her fist, she tried to pull his teeth from her flesh, to no avail. When her struggles weakened, he rolled on top of her, mounting her and pounding himself into her. Finding his release, he dropped his sweaty brow onto her neck and nuzzled close, ignoring her tears. “You’re like a little bird, fluttering against a cage. It doesn’t have to be this way, little bird. I don’t have to make it hurt.” He propped his body off hers with one arm and used his free hand to brush the tears off her cheeks. “You just need to stop fighting me.” He stared down at her for a moment, eyes solemn. “I don’t like hurting you. You’re not really leaving me with a choice here.” 

Red didn’t answer him, closing her eyes tightly and turning her face to the wall. She heard him sigh, then he rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed. She heard his jeans slide up his legs and he stood, zipping them.   
“I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” His hand caressed her shoulder briefly and she lay still, holding her breathe. “I’m going to go find breakfast.” The faint rustling of his bare feet across the floor was followed by the door opening and closing. 

 

 

Martin left the room and went to an empty storeroom down the hall. He’d visited this room a few times before, it was quiet and out of the way. Taking one of the candles he’d hidden in here, he lit it and settled down on the floor cross-legged, staring into the flame. He let him mind drift. He puzzled through the feelings he’d been having lately. He’d been feeling lost, cut off. He recognized the deep depression, the loneliness that came from his lack of meaningful human contact. His team didn’t bother to talk to him, and when they did, it was curt and professional. He could sense the fear in their voices. He shrugged. It was the byproduct of having a short temper and burning people to death. He’d been thinking about just quitting this damned job and blowing his brains out on a mountain top somewhere. And then for whatever reason he’d picked up this damned RED Pyro and carried it home like a stray kitten. And now he felt different. He felt protective, possessive. He wanted to make sure her needs were met and that she was cared for. That was not like him. Women were disposable. It was easier that way, he couldn’t stand how they looked at him. When they saw the scars, their eyes held either horror or pity. They still took his money, but he could sense the reluctance there. But not with his little bird. He’d caught her eyes lingering on his scars a few times, but he’d only seen acknowledgement and curiosity. And today when she’d touched them, she hadn’t seemed a bit disgusted. Maybe, he thought, it was because she had her own scars? The round white burn scars, obvious signs of an accelerant explosion, dappled her back and thighs. He sighed, relaxed by the tiny flame. Before this girl, he’d hidden in his room when not fighting. And now, she was here, asking him questions, talking to him, depending on him. It gave him meaning. He found himself thinking of ways to make her smile. He wanted to teach her how to please him. He frowned, thinking about returning her to her base on Monday morning. He didn’t want to. He would be empty again when that happened. He would miss her. He liked her. Probably more than he should. Martin sighed and leaning forward, pinched out the candle. 

 

 

Rolling over cautiously, she looked around the room, making sure he was gone. She eyed the shotgun propped in the corner balefully, then got off the bed and tried to reach it. Even laying on the floor and stretching out, the chain around her ankle kept her several feet away from it. Quickly she searched the parts of the room that she could reach. A large book on gardening in the nightstand was the only thing with any heft that she could find. Snatching it up, she dropped it inside a pillowcase and knotted the top. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited. 

Martin came back finally, hair damp from the shower and with a plate in his hand. He walked around the edge of the room, dark eyes looking for anything that seemed out of place. The smell of bacon drifted from the plate, filling the space. Her stomach rumbled. He sat down on the chair, far out of her reach, and picked a piece of bacon off the plate, chewing on it as he watched her. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, pillowcase close by, eyeing him warily. 

He picked up another piece of bacon, eyes on her the entire time. “So, what’ll it be, little bird? I know you’re hungry.” Smiling at her, he nibbled daintily on the bacon. “Can you behave long enough to eat?” 

“Please?” Her voice stuck in her throat at the word, but she needed him closer for her plan to work. Her fingers tightened in her lap, she forced them open, trying to make herself look defenseless. Martin stood and brought the plate toward her. When he was within arm’s reach, her fingers wrapped around the pillowcase’s top and she sprang to her feet, swinging it at him with all her strength. Martin ducked back at the last second, bacon flying as he dropped the plate. He lowered his stance, arms spread wide. He grinned, scrutinizing the girl with her makeshift weapon. 

Taking a defensive stance, she swung the pillowcase at his head, the book inside adding weight to the blow. He blocked it with his arm, then turned his body into hers, grabbing the pillowcase and yanking hard. Her only weapon torn from her grasp, she kicked into his leg, aiming for the kneecap. The kick caught him in the back of the thigh and he grunted, swinging back around and broadsiding her with one fist, knocking her to the ground. She tried to get her legs under her, but he kicked her again, bare foot meeting her ribs with so much force she was lifted off the floor. She screamed in pain, trying to scramble away from him. Moving quickly, he stomped his foot down on the chain around her ankle, pinning it to the ground. She rolled, trying to get some distance between them. Scrabbling under the bed, she peered out at him as he lifted his foot from her chain. She jerked her leg under the bed, quickly scooting as far back as she could. 

Martin bent over, looking under the bed at her. “It was a nice try.” His deep voice was gruff. “But you need to come out now.” He sighed. “You really don’t want to know what’s gonna happen if I have to come under there after you.” He took the chain in his hand, shaking it lightly. “Or if I pull you out by the ankle.” 

She watched him for a moment, weighing her options. When he rattled the chain again, she spoke. “I’ll come out on my own.” 

“Good choice.” He backed away from the bed, waiting. 

She crawled out, dust bunnies sticking to her hair and bare skin. When she was out, she looked up at him from the floor. He stepped back a pace, giving her room. She stood, eyes on the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Martin touched her cheek softly. “You just have to make this hard on both of us, don’t you?” He traced her jawline with his finger, then down her neck and across her collarbone, tapping on it several times for emphasis. He then began to brush her off, picking one particularly large dust bunny from behind her ear and dropping it onto the floor. “You know I’m going to punish you for this.” He wandered off to his closet, seemingly nonchalant, but with one eye on her the entire time. 

She watched him carefully, not moving. He’d disarmed her as easily as one would a child, she thought to herself. She could feel things beginning to shut down in her brain, her desire to fight back being squelched to nothing. And there was something else growing there, the urge to just give in and do what he asked, let him take control. She knew that couldn’t be good, but it would be so much easier, and she was tired of fighting. Her shoulders remained slumped and she stood quietly, even as he closed the space between them, the leather belt swinging back and forth in his hand. When he grasped her arm roughly she allowed him to lead her to the bed, to pull her down across his knees. She knew what was coming next and she dreaded it, but fighting was not going to help. 

 

Martin rubbed his left hand across the girl’s bottom, his right folding the belt in two. Having her laid across his knees like this was the most erotic thing he’d seen in ages. He moved his hand up and placed it firmly on her back, holding her in position. “You will count for me, little bird. And you will thank me when this is all over.” He brought the belt down hard across her buttocks, the thick thwack of leather hitting flesh filling the room. Her body jolted under his hand, and then her voice, breathy with pain. “One.” He nodded, admiring the bright red stripe across the pale flesh of her bottom. The belt crashed down again, and again her voice was breathy as she counted but she did not scream. With the third lash, she screamed. He gave her time to catch her breath, admiring the lovely contrasts on her ass, then rubbed his hand across them. “Count for me, birdie…” He paused a moment, giving her time to speak. “We don’t want to start all over again, do we?” Her faint three came to his ears at that. By the fourth stroke, she was crying hard, wailing by the fifth. “Only five more to go,” he cajoled her, “You can do this, birdie. I have faith in you.” The last five came hard and fast, he dropped the belt on the floor when they were finished and stood, her slight weight supported in his arms. Turning around, he laid her carefully on her side, then lay down beside her, wrapping her in his arms. 

“I’m so sorry, little bird. But you had to be punished. You understand, don’t you, baby?” He brushed her damp hair from her sweat drenched forehead, fingers gentle. She snuggled her cheek against his hand, shoulders still shaking with sobs, seeking comfort from anywhere. He cuddled her close, shushing her and rubbing her back in slow circles. The need to be inside her had disappeared with her tears, now he just wanted them to stop. When she fell asleep, he gently disentangled himself from her, cleaning the bits of breakfast and broken rebellion off the floor.


	3. Because Coloring is Zen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet chapter, Martin and Birdie learning to be friends.

Martin sat in his chair in the corner, watching Birdie. The Administrator had called a cease fire until RED found their missing team mate. It had been four days and she was still here. He’d given her a coloring book from his stack and a box of colored pencils. She lay stretched out on his quilt on the floor, diligently shading in a kitten. The corners of his mouth turned up wistfully. Birdie glanced up at him, then back down at her drawing. “You could join me, you know.” 

Martin shrugged. “You would probably stab me in the eye with a pencil, little bird. Not sure I want to ask Demo where he buys his eyepatches.”  
When she answered, her voice was only half joking. “I would never dream of stabbing you with a pencil.” She changed out the brown for a soft cream. “Besides, you’d just take it from me and beat me with it.”  
Martin got out of the chair and kneeled on the floor beside her holding out his right hand, pinkie crooked. “Say you won’t stab me, Birdie. Pinkie promise.”

She looked at him, shocked that the dangerous mercenary in front of her even knew what a pinkie promise was. Crooking her own pinkie, she wrapped it around his. “I promise that I will not stab you with a pencil.” She released his pinkie. “Now, trust me?”

Martin shook his head. “Not really. But if you break a pinkie promise, the devil will take you.” 

“I thought you already had.” She was only half joking as she shifted on the quilt, making room for him. “Here. You color the puppy, k?”

Martin picked up a pencil and began working on it. Coloring was soothing, and with her warmth radiating up his side, even more so.

“Martin were you ever a kid?” The question came out of the blue, and he paused for a moment before answering it. 

“A really, really long time ago.” He tousled her hair. “You’re still a kid, aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m 28. I just don’t look it because I’ve been working here for so long. How long have you been working here?”

Martin shrugged. His hire date had been nearly sixty years ago. “Forever.”

“Do you like your team? They seem awfully,” she paused trying to think how to word what she wanted to say, “angry. My team is loud, but not like that.”

“This team is pretty dysfunctional, Birdie. I’ve worked with good teams, and bad teams, but this one is something else. They don’t even try to get along. Soldier and Heavy hate each other, and Medic and Engineer just want to experiment with stuff. The rest of us hide in our rooms and wait to get reassigned.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t help that they’re all afraid of me.”

She glanced over at him. “Why?”

“When I first came here, Soldier thought I would be easy to mess with. He broke into my room one night and” he sighed, “Anyway, the next night I tied him down on his bed and tortured him until respawn picked him up. I was waiting for him in respawn with my flamethrower. Every time he came back, I burned him to death again. Finally, our spy managed to backstab me, and Soldier got away. Two days after that, our Spy mysteriously wrecked his car on the way to town. He was out of respawn range.” He concentrated on the puppy he was coloring. “They all know that I’m good with fixing things. Not like Engie, but good. They just sort of left me alone after that.”

She frowned. “Did you do it?”

“His brakes failed Birdie. Just leave it at that, ok?” 

She shrugged and went back to coloring. “Okay.” She reached over and took the brown out of his hand. 

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”

She grinned. “Think you can take it from me?”

He lunged for the pencil, then changed tactics suddenly. He began tickling her, laughing nearly as hard as she was. “Stop, Stop! You can have it back!” She was panting hard but still giggling.  
He took the pencil from her hand and lay on the floor half on top of her, chest heaving from the exertion. “Why aren’t you afraid of me? I don’t understand it.”  
She ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “I am afraid of you. You’re bigger than me, and stronger. A better fighter too. But sometimes I look at you and I see this other person. This person who just wants to lay on the floor and color and be happy.” She shrugged. “I like that person, Martin.” She brushed a finger over the scars on his face. “You remind me of who I used to be. I never got to just relax and be happy until I met my team. I was always tense, waiting for the fighting to start. But they’re like my family. We all take care of each other, you know what I mean?” She looked at him, seeing both longing and understanding in his eyes. 

He shrugged, trying to cover up the emotions with nonchalance. “Your kitten needs you, Birdie.” He went back to his own picture, waiting for her to join him. 

 

Martin colored with her until she dozed off, content just to be near her. When he realized that she had fallen asleep again, he picked her up and placed her on the bed, tucking her in. It worried him that she was sleeping so much. Admittedly, he didn’t know much about her, but he was fairly certain that sleeping almost constantly was a sign of shock. He slipped out of the room and into the kitchen, making sandwiches and putting them on a tray next to a pitcher of water. Having deposited all that back in his room, he found a bucket and placed it next to his bed. He hoped it was self-explanatory and he wasn’t going to be around for a few hours. He didn’t want her getting uncomfortable because she couldn’t reach the half bath in the corner of his room. He got Engie to drive him to town, the entire trip taking perhaps four hours. When he got back to the base, he thanked Engie and went to check on his captive.


	4. Under the Bed...

Birdie lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She had found the sandwiches and the pitcher of water when she woke up. She’d also found the bucket. Assuming they were meant for her, she’d eaten the sandwiches, drained the pitcher, and finally, when she couldn’t resist the urge any longer, used the bucket. That left her with nothing to do. Martin had taken all the books, even the small paperbacks and stacked them against the far wall, well out of her reach. She tried getting the chain off her ankle but only succeeded in giving herself yet another abraded bruise. She tried getting the chain off the leg of the bed, once again, no luck. Finally, she’d just laid back on the bed and stared upward, trying not to think.  
She mentally poked at her odd reactions to Martin. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been here, but it had to be days now. Since she’d decided to stop fighting him, his entire demeanor had changed. He was oddly considerate, kind even. He was taking care of her, and even though he’d beaten her with a belt, she had hit him with a book. It was a very big book too… She found herself wondering when he would be back. She missed his witty little comments. She thought back to the night before when the usual nightmares had woken her up. Without even waking, he’d wrapped his arms closer around her and hummed softly, relaxing her enough to go back to sleep. When he was here, she felt safe. And several times today she’d caught him staring off into the distance. He’d worn the same expression she had before joining the team of mercs she lived with now. They were the family she hadn’t known since childhood. That mix of melancholy and longing were very familiar to her. The longer she thought about Martin, the more confused she became.

The BLU base was noisy, but not like her own base. People were frequently shouting and there were several loud crashes that she knew from experience were the results of things being knocked over or broken by roughhousing mercs. There was a particularly loud crash from the common area of the base and several male voices shouting curses. Then, silence. She lay still, listening. Footsteps were coming down the hall, heavy boots stomping along. The noise stopped just outside the door. Feeling very uneasy, she sat up and scooted into the corner, trying to make herself as small as possible. She watched the door, biting on her lower lip worriedly. The knob began to turn. She cursed silently, arms clutching around her knees. The doorknob stopped turning and the door rattled in its frame as someone cursed drunkenly outside. Thank God, she thought, Martin had locked the door before he wandered off. Gathering the quilt and pillow off the bed and pushing them under it, she crawled into the tight space and curled up as far from the door as she could get. Eventually, she slept. 

Martin opened the door to an empty room. He frowned then strode over to the foot of the bed and gave the chain a quick yank. There was a muffled yelp from under the bed and he bent over to look. Gradually his eyes accustomed themselves to the dim light under the bed and he could make out a pile of bedding with two wide eyes peering back at him. 

Dropping to his hands and knees, he reached a hand under the bed. “Come on, birdie, it’s okay.” He held still as she reached out to him slowly, her hand slipping into his. He pulled gently, sliding her and the mass of blanket out from under his bed. Picking her up, he was surprised when her arms slipped around his neck and she buried her face in his chest. The poor thing was shivering, he realized. Wrapping her tighter in the quilt, he sat down on the bed and cradled her close, rocking back and forth with her while waiting for her to speak. 

When her trembling had quieted, he asked “What happened?” He clutched her closer, wanting to pull the blankets off and examine her for injuries, but not wanting to scare her further.

“Somebody was at the door.” She sniffed, snuggling closer to his warmth. “I don’t know who it was, and they didn’t say anything, but it sounded like there was a fight, and then somebody walked up the hall and tried to get in.” She looked up at him, eyes glossed with unshed tears. “I can’t even defend myself. I’m chained to a bed.” 

He sighed and pulled her head down against his chest, stroking her hair. “I know, BIrdie But I can’t let you go, darling. Don’t worry though, the locks on my door are good. Even if someone did come in, I’d kill them. You’re safe here, little bird, I promise.” 

Snuggling closer, she looked up at her captor turned protector. “Please don’t leave me here like that again?” 

He frowned at the question in her voice. “I didn’t intend for this to happen, Birdie.” He buried his nose in her hair. “Honestly, I thought you would be fine for a few hours.” He wasn’t certain why, but he felt responsible somehow. And looking into her eyes, seeing the fear there, was not making him happy. He didn’t like not being happy. It made him want to hurt something. His hands clenched, and he frowned, fighting to relax them. “Did you eat?” He asked, trying to change the topic. 

She nodded, trying to lighten her voice as she sensed his mood. “I did. The sandwiches were good.” She looked up at him, wrinkling her nose. “The bucket was a bit much though…” 

Suddenly, looking at her expression, and the way her nose was wrinkled, his heart felt lighter. He laughed. “You want to go to the washroom? Take a shower maybe? I bet washing up in the sink in my bathroom is getting old.”

Her face brightened immediately. “I would love a shower. Can we? Please, Martin?” 

He laughed again. “Sure. By the way, I got you a present while I was gone.” He reached for the bag he’d tossed onto the bed and pulled out a thin leather collar. “This way we can get that chain off your ankle.” 

He watched her face fall. “You don’t like it? Come on, it’ll look good on you.” He flipped it around, showing the metal ring for a leash and the small bird charm he’d attached. “I even got you a tag.” 

She watched him carefully, trying to read his expression. He was excited, happy. He didn’t even seem to realize how demeaning a collar was. Reaching out with one finger, she stroked it over the little silver bird, then turned to him. “I like this. It’s pretty. But I don’t understand why you call me birdie.” She glanced up at him. “Do you like birds?”

“The sound of birds stops the noise in my mind.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Carly Simon said that, but it’s true, Birdie. You stop the noise in my mind. And the noise in my mind makes me a very bad person. I don’t like that. It causes people to get hurt.” He frowned. “It’s how I ended up on this base. It was either this or prison, and I definitely don’t like prison.” 

She watched his mood sink again. Tracing a finger over his chest, she tried to change the topic. “Would you put it on me? And then could we take a shower?” 

At the sound of her voice, he visibly shook off the memories. “A shower… I’d love to take a shower with you, Birdie.” He grinned and slid her off his lap onto the bed. Fastening the collar around her neck, he stood and pulled a key out of his pocket, loosening the padlock and unchaining her from the foot of the bed. “Leg up.” He nodded as she immediately lifted her foot from the floor and held it up. He unlocked the chain from her leg and before she could move away, he fastened it to her collar. She looked up at him, betrayal showing on her face. 

Martin chuckled. “Really little bird? You thought you could just prance around the halls free?” He snorted laughter. “Not happening.”

Seeing her crestfallen look, he tousled her hair gently. “Don’t be like that, Birdie. It’s not that I don’t trust you.” He sighed. “Okay, I don’t trust you. But, if I go parading you through this base and you decide to run for it, I’m not gonna be the only person hunting you down. And you think I’m evil? I could tell you stories, honey, about the other guys on this base that would make your worst nightmares seem like kids’ bedtime stories. But you don’t want that, now do you?” He kissed her nose. “So, just accept that I know what’s best and stop fighting me.” He tugged on her chain lightly. “You ready for that shower?”

Birdie pulled back from the light tug. “I’m naked. I don’t want to go out there like this.” She waved her arms down over her bare body. “Can I at least have some clothes?” 

Martin shrugged, looking her up and down with an appraising eye. “You may be right about that. No need to rub the team’s nose in it…” He walked over to his drawer and pulled out a t shirt, tossing it to her. “Here, slide that on.” Birdie looked at the length of chain he’d dropped and the soft cotton shirt in her hand. Finally, she rolled up the chain, slipped it through the neck and then pulled his shirt down over her head. It hung to mid-thigh on her and billowed out like a sack but for the first time since waking up here, she was clothed. 

Taking a deep breath, she looked at the length of chain in her hand, then up at him. The thought of using the chain as a weapon was at the forefront of her mind, but she pushed it back. The tension in his posture said that he was just waiting to see what she would do. Crossing the distance between them, she held the coiled length of chain out to him. 

Martin visibly relaxed as she held out the chain. He’d wondered if she would try to fight, not that it would do her any good. Reaching out, he took the chain from her with a smile. “Good choice, sweetheart.” 

She shrugged. “It’s not like you wouldn’t just take it from me and beat me with it anyway.” She glanced pointedly at the books piled in the corner. 

Martin chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Birdie, you are too cute.” Picking up his shotgun he headed out the door.


	5. Shotguns and Shower Scenes

The trip to the base’s communal shower was uneventful. Once there, Martin propped the gun in the corner stall and began stripping. Birdie’s chain dangled on the damp floor, and she looked around carefully before pulling off her shirt. She noted the way that Martin kept his body angled between her and the gun, even when he was undressing. Finally gathering his clothes off the floor, he handed them to her and pointed her to his locker. “Grab a couple of towels, darling.” 

Birdie’s first impression of his locker was how spartan it was. Everything was neatly arranged, down to the bottles being lined up by size. She grabbed what they needed and two towels, then came back to where he was standing under a shower head, adjusting the water temperature. 

 

“Hope you like it hot.” He grinned at her, water beading on the scarred side of his chest. She nodded and stuck a cautious finger into the water’s flow, then sighed in relief. On the few occasions when she had showered with others, they had complained vigorously about the near scalding temperatures she preferred. That was not going to be a problem today.

Martin took the soap from her and a cloth, wetting it and working up a good lather. Pulling her close to him with one hand, he began to wash her with the other. She looked up at him, eyes wide, surprised by how gentle he was being. His lips curled up as he slipped the cloth under her breasts, and then over them, leaving a soapy trail behind. “What, Birdie? I told you that I can make it feel good. Didn’t believe me?”

She shook her head mutely. “It’s not that…” Her voice trailed off as he turned her around and washed her back. She gasped quietly as his hand rubbed over the spot where he’d kicked her. He leaned close and wrapped his arms around her, head bowed over hers protectively. “I think we’ll go visit the Doc after this.” His fingers traced lightly over the bruising. She leaned back against him, body relaxing into his. His hand slipped over her front and down between her legs, the cloth moving carefully over her folds. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, guiding him. 

His lips came down to her neck, licking the water that was beading on her skin. She tried to stifle a moan and he chuckled lightly in her ear. “Is that the spot, baby?” His tongue flicked her earlobe and she shivered against him, finding herself growing aroused. As his fingers continued to move between her legs, she could feel him growing hard against her back. He dropped the washcloth onto the floor and slid that hand over her breasts, the soap causing it to glide across her skin. He rubbed the palm of his hand over her nipples, listening to her breathing quicken. 

The combined sensations of the hot water and his hands on her quickly had her trembling at his touch and trying to squirm out of his grasp. He held her still within the cage of his arms, his mouth leaving dark marks on her neck. He quickly brought her gasping and moaning over the edge, then bent her forward, placing her hands against the tiled walls he slid inside her. 

The sensation of him filling her already over sensitized flesh caused another wracking orgasm to sweep through her body and within a few strokes he joined her. Pulling back, he panted, reaching out with one hand to steady himself on the wall. The relaxed grin that spread across his face mirrored her own expression. 

Attempting to steady her legs and bend over to reach for the washcloth caused her to pitch forward. Martin moved quickly, catching her and lowering her to the floor of the shower stall. Laughing out loud, he slid down the wall and joined her on the floor. “I’ll never look at this shower the same.” He leaned his head back against the wall, letting the water stream down over him. Birdie pulled herself closer, beginning to rub the cloth over the scars on his chest. He curled an arm around her, glancing at her with trepidation in his eyes as she began tracing the path of the scars with her fingertips. 

“It’s not pretty is it?” He tucked his chin onto his chest and sighed. “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna hurt my feelings if you say no.” He sighed. “I see them in the mirror every day, I know how they look.”

The melancholy in his voice struck a chord within Birdie. She began tracing the scars further down, then back up again. “I like them.” She smiled up at him. “You look dangerous. And everybody loves a bad boy, Martin.” 

His eyes narrowed, searching her face and seeming to find the truth there. “You really think so?” His voice was uncertain. She nodded. 

Smirking, he lowered his voice, making it a deep husky rumble. “What about you, Birdie? Do you like the bad boys?” He leaned closer to her, lips finding hers in a gentle kiss, taking his time and exploring her mouth with his tongue.

She responded to his kisses, moving to straddle his lap, rubbing her soap slicked skin against his. He groaned, arms wrapping around her and caressing her back and hips in long sweeping moves. Her mouth pulled back from his, tracing kisses over the scarred jawline and down his neck. She could feel him getting hard against her yet again, his arousal sliding over her core and making her want him. She readjusted the position of her hips, feeling him slide into her and she moaned as his arms wrapped her tighter. 

“That’s it, Birdie, right like that…” His voice was a murmur as she slid further down on him, impaling herself. When her hips met his, he leaned forward from the wall and began to rock back and forth, holding her tightly. His voice was a soft mantra in her ear, murmuring softly to her as she nibbled at his neck and earlobes. She felt the need to go harder growing on her and she began to move against him, meeting his slow strokes by grinding her hips against his. His breath caught in his throat as she escalated their pace, and he leaned back against the wall, hands reaching up to cup her breasts. His fingers found her nipples and began tweaking them, smiling at the sounds she made. The sound of her pleasure only excited him more. He slid a finger down between their joined bodies, finding her clit and rubbing his thumb against it. Within moments, she orgasmed, throwing her head back and howling as the full force of it washed through her body. Martin grabbed her hips and ground himself against her, following her quickly. His arms went around her as she collapsed against him, giggling. 

“What’s so funny?” He finally asked when he’d caught his breath. She shook her head, trying to push herself up enough to look into his eyes. Finally, she caught her breath enough to speak. “I was just imagining…” She panted, “if we ran out of hot water in the middle of that…” she let her head drop back to his chest, “would you notice?” Her finger swirled around his nipple. “Not sure I would have…” 

Martin smiled to himself, arms wrapping around her tighter. “I think we might have heated the water back up…” Slowly, reluctantly, he pushed her off him and stood, clinging to the wall. Turning off the water, he reached for a towel and helped her up. Wrapping her in the towel, he took the other one and began drying himself off. He bent over to towel his legs dry and when he looked back up, found himself staring down the barrel of his own shotgun. “Birdie…” he whispered, looking past the barrel of the gun to her face. Her eyes weren’t on him, but on something behind him. Martin slowly finished straightening, then turned. Red Spy was standing behind him, balisong raised. Martin took a deep breath and looked between the two. 

Spy spoke first. “Cherie, I’ve come to take you home.” 

“I don’t want to go.” Her voice was low, almost petulant. “I like him.” 

“If it’s sex you want, Cherie, any one of us would have been happy to oblige.” He held out a hand to her, beckoning her to him.

“It’s not the sex, Spee…” She shrugged. “It’s more than that. I think I want to keep him.”

Spy shook his head. “You know you cannot, Py. He is BLU.” His cultured French accent was soothing, his voice reasonable as he curled his gloved fingers, beckoning her again. He sighed. “I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to retrieve you, darling. You need to come with me now.” 

Birdie shook her head, her lip starting to tremble. “I don’t want to.” 

Spy nodded. “I know, Cherie, but you must. If you don’t, there will be trouble. I had to talk a great deal to stop the others from coming here and laying waste to this entire base. They are not happy.”

She looked from Spy to Martin. “Please, don’t make me go, Spy…” Her voice trailed off.

“Don’t cry, mon feu.” He sighed, lowering his knife. “I know you like him. I know you want to stay, but you cannot. You know that also, don’t you?” 

Slowly she nodded, lowering the shotgun. Martin looked from one to the other, puzzled. He barely had time to register her movement before the shotgun’s butt smashed into his head and the world went black.


	6. Baddest Boy on the Team

Pyro sat alone on the roof, looking out over the hazy blue mountains. They had moved bases right after Spy had rescued her, and after three months, she was still enthralled by the beauty of the land surrounding this base She still wore her collar, although Engie had cut the lock fastening the chain to it free. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself tightly. When she and Spy had made it back to the RED base, he’d taken her straight to the infirmary where he and Medic had talked together in hushed tones. The word Stockholm had been bandied about a good bit. She shook her head, letting a tear roll unhindered down her cheek. She didn’t think Stockholm Syndrome was the problem here. She had come to enjoy Martin’s company, the subtle humor, the jokes about the dangers of horticulture. She’d learned to tell when he was feeling maudlin or sad and somewhere in the whole mess, she’d seen a little boy looking for someone to love him. She glanced over her shoulder as Demo came onto the roof and dropped down beside her, wrapping an arm around her and hugging her tightly. 

“Ey little girl.” He didn’t say any more, just let her lean up against him. Taking a swig from the bottle in his hand, he offered it to her. Pyro smiled faintly and pushed it away. “Nah, Demo. You know I can’t stand the taste.” 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, lass.” He took another drink. “More for me.” They settled into a companionable silence, watching the sun go down together. Finally, Demo spoke. “Don’t know if you heard, but we’re getting a new team member.” He glanced over at her, judging her reaction. “Should be here later tonight.” He wrapped his arm around her tighter. “Why don’t we go down and greet him, lass? Make him feel welcome?”

Pyro sighed. Since Spy had brought her back from the BLU base, her team had barely given her a second alone. They were constantly nearby, asking how she felt, how she was doing, and in Engie’s case, trying to feed her. “You aren’t going to leave me alone until I come down, are you?”

“Naw, lass. I ain’t.” Demo got to his feet and reached down for her hand. “Come on, I’ll even help you up.”

Pyro took the offered hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. “Fine.” She followed the only slightly drunken Scot through the base to the front hallway where the rest of the team had already gathered. They only had a few minutes to wait, the guys chatting idly. At the sound of a car pulling into the drive and the engine cutting off, Engie, the most social of them all, opened the base door. A tall figure got out of the car and grabbed a suitcase from the trunk, then waved to the driver as the car pulled from view. Turning, he strode toward the base, almost skipping. 

“Seems eager, don’t he?” Engie leaned close to her, voice low. “Wonder why that would be?” 

He leaned back against the wall as the newcomer stepped inside the base, his face shadowed by his hat. Reaching up, the new guy pulled his hat off revealing dark twinkling eyes and a scar shadowed visage.

Py’s heart leapt into her throat. “Martin?” Her voice was a whisper, hardly daring to believe. 

Martin’s eyes scanned the gathered mercs before finding her. Dropping the suitcase, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him tightly. “Heya Birdie.” His voice was low and husky. “How do you feel about making room for a bad boy on your team?”


End file.
